


Suckerpunch

by InyriAscending



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InyriAscending/pseuds/InyriAscending
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things that hit harder than punches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suckerpunch

Author's note: inspired originally by the following prompt. _Warrior F!Hawke has no time for silly things like boys. She's too busy kicking ass, making money, and/or being the paragon of Hightown. But she's crushing hard. Up to you on who. And I always thought the whole 'I'm too busy being me but damn would I like some of this' mentality is kind of cute. I'm also a sucker for Warrior F!Hawke. She doesn't get enough love in fandom._

I agree entirely. Enjoy.

* * *

She can’t decide if it’s the alcohol or the ambiance (she’s always a little nervous at Fenris’ place, ever since the first time one of the ceiling tiles fell on her head), but her brain’s going a mile a minute and she’s running one hell of a hot streak.

“I win again!” Hawke tosses her cards down with a grin and stretches her arms out across the table, raking in the stacks of coin and jewelry. “Maker, I love that noise. I think I’ll build a bathing pool and fill it with money, so I can just roll ‘round in it and listen to it clink and-” she slaps Isabela’s hand away from the pile.

“I didn’t mean to actually lose that,” Isabela scowls, staring balefully at her necklace as Hawke holds it aloft and studies it. “I’ll trade you a crate of whiskey for it?”

Hawke considers, briefly. “Done. I doubt this’d suit me anyway... too showy.” She shoves it back across the table.

“Of course, it’s purely coincidental that we just happened to seize all of that Coterie moonshine yesterday and you so innocently suggested we store it at Hawke’s?” Aveline arches a brow and aims a pointed stare at Isabela.

“And now I won’t even have to deliver it! You’d think I’d planned it.” She sticks her tongue out at Aveline before turning back to Hawke. “How did you beat me? I taught you how to play, ungrateful woman.” The clasp of the necklace secured around her throat, Isabela kicks her feet up on the table and reaches for an open wine bottle.

“Beginner’s luck?” Fenris shrugs, folding his cards, then reaches over and yanks Isabela’s chair back sharply; she squawks and lands on the ground in a heap. “Keep your feet off my table, if you please.”

Hawke snorts. “Luck? Luck had nothing to do with it. I’m just that good, that’s what.” Fingers interlaced, she stretches her arms and cracks her knuckles loudly.

“As you say, Hawke.” He swipes the bottle back from Isabela and takes a long sip; Hawke can’t see his expression behind the bottleneck, but she has a sneaking suspicious he’s smirking again.

 _Cocky bastard._ “What, you think you can beat me?”

“At cards?” He shrugs. “Doubtful. In combat, on the other hand...”

“Not a chance. Get up and I’ll prove it.” She pushes back, chair scraping the floor.

“I am not going to-” Fenris cuts off abruptly as Hawke vaults over the table and grabs him by the collar; Isabela whistles, long and low, and Aveline moves one hand to her blade. She has him out of his seat and halfway across the table before he twists from her grip and turns to face her.

She strips off one gauntlet and lets it fall; it clatters to the ground between them. “You’re backing down now? Come on, Fenris. For two years it’s been all talk and no action with you,” her second gauntlet joins the first on the ground, and her hands start to work at the buckles of her armor (though she needs it for a swordfight she has always fought better without her armor, ever since the days when she and Carver wrestled together on the common room floor). “Or are you hiding behind fancy weapons and magic tricks?”

His upper lip curls back in a snarl at the mention of magic. “Are you going to continue to goad me, or is there something that you want?”

Hawke’s breastplate hits the floor with a thud as, behind her, Isabela whispers something to Aveline; she straightens the padded gambeson she wears beneath the plate and unlaces her boots, stepping neatly out of them with just the faintest alcohol-induced wobble. “Fight me. You said it first- you think you can outfight me. Prove it.”

Fenris sighs, and draws the sword from his back in a single practiced movement- then turns, and leans the blade against the wall next to her own weapon. “No.”

She bridges the distance to him in three swift barefoot steps and grabs for his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll be sporting. No weapons, you can keep your armor and-” her hand slips and closes around his arm, in the bare-skinned gap between spaulder and gauntlet.

In the next moment, he whips around serpent-fast and his fist catches her squarely in the chin.

Hawke shakes her head to clear her ringing ears and spits out a mouthful of blood, then grins. “That’s more like it.” Her foot hooks behind his ankle as she catches his wrist, setting him off-balance and spiralling toward the ground; she drops beside him, knee on his chest and one forearm across his throat.

Isabela shrieks encouragement as they tumble together across the room, Aveline hurriedly moving furniture from their path. She catches a handful of silver-white hair in one hand and pulls, hard, earning her a Tevinter curse hissed in her ear and a pointed elbow in the ribs that makes her gasp for breath. Fenris scrambles back to his feet; she manages a half-crouch and catches him at the knee as he speeds a kick toward her head. He goes down hard but she’s misjudged the angle, and he lands sprawling on her with her right arm half-trapped. Before she can untangle herself he has her left arm pinned, too.

They stay there, panting, staring at each other for a long minute, sweat dripping from his face onto hers; she licks her lips.

She suddenly, inexplicably, maddeningly, can barely suppress the urge to kiss him.

_Shit._

“Do you yield?” His breath is almost cool against her burning face. The pressure on her wrists eases, if just slightly.

She considers her response, opens her mouth to speak- then arches against him, whips herself forward and headbutts him; he reels back, letting her free.

“That’s enough, both of you.” Aveline has to shout over Isabela’s pealing laughter. “One more punch and I’ll throw you both in lockup.” Fenris settles down on one hip, rests his head in his hands and starts to laugh.

“I’d call that a draw,” Hawke grins, flat on her back. They climb to their feet together, leaning on each other, and her heart pounds in her chest like it’s trying to escape.

“If you want a rematch, Hawke, you know where to find me.” Fenris steps back, with a half-mocking bow in her direction. “Perhaps next time I’ll beat you properly.”

“Perhaps.” She lets her hair down from its bindings to cover her swelling cheek. “Or maybe I’ll surprise you with something you won’t expect.”


End file.
